| |
The atrium teemed with people in varying stages of chaotic activity. No sense of direction guided the growing anarchy. Roland knew what he was looking at and in this rare case, he approved. The people of the Underworld were rising up against whatever they could find to rise up against. Unencumbered by leadership or a sense of driving purpose, five thousand screaming denizens of Gethsemane’s trash bin whipped themselves into a frothing mass. There could be only two outcomes here. Some brave soul would seize control of the zeitgeist and channel it for a greater purpose, or the riot would reach a horrible critical mass and begin to feed upon itself in an orgy of self-destructive violence.
“What’s going on in the middle?” Manny asked. “I can’t see shit.”
“Jericho,” Roland said. “He didn’t make it too far from our fight, I guess. He’s down, and they’re building up the courage to do something real bad to him. Nobody’s risked it yet, but...”
“Oh my God,” breathed Martin. “They’ll kill him!”
Roland smiled behind his faceplate. “Yup.”
“They can’t do that! That’s not right!”
“Yup,” Roland repeated. “Someone should get them under control. Maybe turn this into some kind of symbolic victory.”
“I nominate the friar,” Manny said.
“What?” The friar did not agree. “Hell no!”
“This crowd is going to boil into a riot over the next fifteen minutes, friar,” Roland said. “They are mad, and they are confused, and they are ready to do something about it. They have no idea what, though. Right now, everything they hate is lying wounded and dying at their feet. Soon, one of them is going to do something that can’t be undone.”
“You can stop them!” Martin sounded frantic.
“I sure could,” Roland said. “But that won’t accomplish anything. There is an opportunity here, Martin. One you are not likely to get again. Someone has to step up and lead, and it can’t be me. They need a person they know and respect. Someone with faith.”
“You big son of a bitch!” Martin pointed a finger at Roland. “You were doing this all along! You planned this!”
“No,” Roland said. “But I thought things might go this way. I have seen a lot of the galaxy, friar. I know a powder keg when I step on one.”
“Honestly, we do this all the time,” Manny pointed out. “Like we seriously have to talk about our thing for destabilizing governments at the next meeting...”
“Not now, Manny!” Lucia hissed.
“Sorry, boss.”
Martin gaped at them all, only in this moment realizing just how far they had pushed him. “You are not putting this on me...”
“Too late. Watch this,” Roland said and stepped from the access hall to the atrium. The crowd saw their strange new hero and surged to screaming life. Roland threw his hands up in a gesture of victory. He cranked his speaker volume as high as it would go and thundered. “Are you guys sick and tired of being shit on yet?” A roar washed over Roland that was so loud the sound waves vibrated his helmet. “Are you done with the lies and bullshit?” Another wall of pure sound struck him. “Good! Because I can’t stick around to kick all these asses for you. The good news is I left you guys some asses to kick yourselves.” Jeers and shouts followed, with more than one pointed expletive directed at the still form of Harland Jericho. Roland turned and pointed to Martin. “This is your cue. Go minister to that Knight.” To the crowd he bellowed, “Clear the way!” The people parted at his command, opening a path between Roland and the downed Knight.
“I hate you so much right now,” said the friar, but there was no heat to his words. He stepped through the door and pushed his way to Jericho’s side. Lucia, Manny, and Mindy stayed back in the shadows of the doorway. The crowd fell silent as Martin kneeled beside Jericho, a terrible tension replacing the furor of the previous moments. After a moment, Martin stood. Ten thousand eyes transfixed the man, who seemed to shrink under the weight of all that scrutiny. Finally, he spoke. “The Knight is dead.” The crowd inhaled as if to cheer the news. The sound died in their throats when they saw tears in the eyes of their trusted friar and heard his acid rebuke. “And any person who takes joy in that is the worst kind of sinner! This man was lied to, mutilated against his will, and used like a tool to serve the greed of another. This was a pious man! He believed in God’s word! If you have hate in your heart for him, then you have hate for all who do what they believe is right in the service of God.” Martin turned in a slow circle, meeting as many of those eyes as he could. “He could have been any of us. For all his faults, he chose to serve at any price. And now that he has been used up, they have left him to die. Maybe he was a bad man. Maybe hell is where he deserves to be. But there can be no room in our hearts for hate if we would be better than the bastards who wronged him. For they are the same ones wronging all of us! I see rage in you all. I see your frustration. I understand it and share it. I have tried to serve God in my own way and leave the Church to His judgment. Like this Knight, I was a fool. God is calling us right now, people. All of us! He is giving us a purpose. If we poison that purpose with hate, then we do not deserve this opportunity.”
“What do we do?” a woman asked. “More Knights will come!”
Others joined her in voicing fears of Church reprisals. In the span of just a few seconds, apprehensive murmurings grew into shouts once more. Martin faltered until Manny stepped up from behind and pressed something into the palm of his hand. Martin looked down on it, and recognition washed across his face. He held the object up for all to see, and Roland nearly laughed out loud.
In the friar’s raised hand was a single old-fashioned shotgun shell. “I do not fear Goliath!” Martin said, his voice sparkling with mirth. “Because God saw fit to bring me a stone! This tiny old-fashioned, easy-to-manufacture thing neutralizes their armor. Without that, they are just men.”
“Is it actually easy to make?” Lucia whispered to Manny.
“Not really, no,” said Manny. “But I don’t think now is the time to mention that.”
Martin was still talking. “For now, go back to your homes and prepare yourselves for some hard times. I am about to deliver Elder Polito to the Inquisition, where he will be tried and punished for his crimes against Harland Jericho and the Church. They believe that will placate us. But that will be just the start of our demands.”
“Kill Polito!” Individual shouts grew and morphed into a chant. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”
“No!” Roland used the full power of his helmet speakers to kill the furor before it got too strong. “There will be no killing!”
Martin took up the thread. “The Elder’s fall is our beginning. It is where a new Gethsemane is born. Don’t make it ugly with a murder. Let the Conclave have him. Let them do their trials and rituals. And when they are done, we will look to them and cry out for more! And when they ask why, we will remind them of Elder Polito. We shall purchase our progress with his hypocrisy. Because it is us who brought his treachery to light, and is that not how God willed it? They will owe us for this, and they will pay.”
“More!” the crowd screamed back. “More! More! More!”
Roland placed a hand on the friar’s shoulder. “They’re all yours now, Brother Martin. Enjoy your revolution.”
“Damn you,” he grumbled. “I really do hate you.”
“Hate the sin,” Roland fired back. “Not the sinner.”
Lucia stepped forward and dropped Polito at Roland’s feet. “Careful, big guy,” she whispered. “Powder keg, remember?”
Roland scooped Polito up by his purple robes and held the man aloft. Polito’s florid face gaped at the crowd and streams of tears ran from his eyes. They crowd booed and jeered, though the feeling of impending violence had left the furor. They laughed at the pathetic condition of the powerful Elder. They threw garbage and taunted him. Satisfied, Roland lowered Polito and said to Lucia. “Okay. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Martin,” Lucia said, “Stay with the crowd and keep things productive and not riot-y. We are going to deliver the package and pick up Grimes.”
“Go with God,” Martin said. “Or you know, don’t.”
As a group, they began to push through the crowd. Roland kept Polito high over his shoulder to prevent any opportunistic provocateurs from taking the initiative and doing something rash. The people parted before him with polite reverence, though the occasional piece of garbage sailed inward to bounce off Polito, who whimpered and yelped each time. Lucia pitched her voice just loud enough to be heard over the general hubbub. “Did you see Jericho’s arm?”
“Yes,” Roland said without looking back, “Sasori dagger. It was Grimes.”
“Jericho must have tried to stop him from getting to the lifts.”
“I figure,” Roland agreed. “What are the chances he got to the surface?”
“I checked the InfoNet,” Lucia said. “The lift hasn’t cycled since Polito arrived. It’s all locked down. He’s still here. Somewhere.”
Roland jostled Polito. “Let’s get this piece of shit delivered and see if the Inquisitors are as good as their word.”
“I’ll call it in to that creepy bastard with the green hair as soon as we’re clear of the atrium,” said Lucia.
In short order, the group spilled out into one of the interminable gray concourses that ringed the various levels of the Underworld. Manny led them to a maintenance hatch and unlocked the door with a wave of his hand. Inside the narrow tunnel, the group moved in silence until they found an open area filled with environmental equipment.
“This’ll do,” Lucia said. She pulled out her handheld and retrieved the Inquisitor’s code.
He answered on the first chime. “You have the package?”
“I do,” said Lucia. “Where do you want it delivered?”
“Right where you are is fine. I have assets en route to you. Once the Elder is in our hands, I will beam Grimes’s coordinates to your device. I expect you to retrieve him quickly and leave immediately.”
“You going to turn the lift back on?”
“Call me back when you have Grimes, and I will lift the lockdown. Until then, I will keep him here.”
“Roger that,” Lucia said, and killed the connection.
A few minutes later, six men in very convincing disguises entered the room. Each looked exactly like any random resident of the Underworld, right down to the rumpled clothes and shifting eyes. The men took custody of the Elder, who went meekly and without incident. He spared one last look for Mindy, who met his eyes with a mien of hatred so pure and intense the blood drained from his face.
Then they were alone.
“Even at the end, he still wanted you,” Lucia said to Mindy. “After all this, he still thought you would go to him.”
Mindy shook her head. “Arrogance is a way of life for the Conclave. Deep down inside that fat jerk, he still thinks I’m supposed to be his. Like he thinks that at some point I’m going to wise up, find my faith, and fall into his bed with a smile on my face.”
“People who always get what they want are often confused when they don’t,” Manny said. “That’s what makes messing with them so much fun.”
Laughing, Mindy reached out and grabbed Manny in a headlock. He struggled ineffectually against her grip while she tortured him. “You ain’t wrong, kid. Today has really put a smile on my face!”
Lucia’s handheld chimed, and she looked at the screen. “Enough grab-ass, kids. We have a fix on Grimes. And holy shit is he close!”
“Good, Roland rumbled from deep in his chest. “It’s about fucking time.”
––––––––
